


you're the one i gotta have remix ft. Swedish Golf Mafia

by Dark_Eyed_Junco



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 12:30:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14237343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Eyed_Junco/pseuds/Dark_Eyed_Junco
Summary: Alex thinks its sad how Americans are so repressed, and comes up with a plan. Will goes along with it.





	you're the one i gotta have remix ft. Swedish Golf Mafia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aperfect20 (blamefincham)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blamefincham/gifts).
  * Inspired by [you're the one i gotta have](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10643970) by [blamefincham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blamefincham/pseuds/blamefincham). 



> Set beginning in the summer of 2017.

“I think Dubi and Cam might be together,” said Alex.

Will thought about that while he was sprinting through ground cover under sniper fire, and some more while he was in a helicopter smoking out gun nests, and even more while staring at the lit grenade smoldering between his legs. It exploded; he died. “No, I don't think so,” he said, finally, putting the controller down. “Why do you think that?”

“The way they are in the locker room. Dubi is Dubi but he pays special attention to Cam. I'm sure of it.”

“That's just Dubi,” argued Will. “You know, he thinks he has to be a really great glue guy or something. Beats me why Cam puts up with – oh.” Hm. He picked the controller back up.

“Yeah, you see?”

“Maybe.” Will shrugged and queued up matchmaking in the lobby for another game.

“Don't you care?”

“Not really. You going to join or what?”

“But it's sad, isn't it?”

“How?”

“That they feel like they can't be together, or let people know.”

“You don't know that. Maybe they like their privacy.”

“Will,” said Alex, looking unimpressed. “It's Dubi. He doesn't know what a personal boundary is. Anyway, you know Americans,” he persisted. “Like, oh, we can't show a boob on TV, think of the children. As if they all didn't grow up with one in their mouth. It's a repressed country.”

“Hm.”

“Also they're older guys, maybe that has something to do with it.”

“Not that much older.”

“Older guys and in team leadership. Sort of. They could be afraid to cause a distraction, or mess up team chemistry. Wille. Are you listening?”

“Mm?”

“It's a pity and a shame,” said Alex, carefully.

Will exited matchmaking and turned thoughtfully to him. “I can't believe this, Alex, you looked away from the mirror long enough to have one thought of concern for a teammate?”

“But, Will.”

“Yes, Alex?”

“You should also be concerned. You have to help me. Help me help them.”

“I'm not on your team anymore, remember?”

“Who else can I trust with this?” Alex's voice went solemn and confiding. “I have a great plan. But it'll only work if you help me.”

What a strange thing for Alex to fixate on so strongly. Will had a sudden thought. “What is this really about?”

“Uhhm – eh?”

“I'm not going to ignore you when I get back to America and my new team,” Will informed him. “You don't need to make up some schemes to keep us involved. We'll always be friends.”

“It's not a scheme, Dubi needs our help.”

“Hohm.” Will made a skeptical noise with his throat. “You don't really believe this – Dubi and Cam?” He tried to imagine it. “Wouldn't Cam be crushed?”

“No, why would he be crushed?”

“Just picture it.”

“Wille, if you wouldn't think a big man would crush a smaller woman, why would you think he would crush a smaller man?”

“I don't know,” admitted Will. “Somehow a big man and a small man seems stranger to me, and more dangerous.”

“Lars William,” said Alex, shaking his head. “Sometimes you're the dumbest guy I know.”

**

Relax, Alex said to him, and I will take care of it. You don't have to do anything but 'back me up' and 'follow my lead.' It seemed like Alex was approaching this as if it was a military op, and had watched too many American TV shows and played too many American video games.

It was hard to enjoy the rest of the summer with a threat like that hanging over him. Will tried to make it clear that, in fact, he had never agreed to anything, but Alex only smiled in an insufferable way to show that he had heard but refused to acknowledge him. Sometimes when Will looked over at him he could almost hear him trying to scheme – yes, scheme! - in that pretty little head of his.

That was how it went for the last few weeks, though Alex didn't bring it up again explicitly. They played their last round of golf, said goodbye to friends, family, Swedish food, for the most part, and the Swedish language, also for the most part, and especially for Alex. Then it was back to America.

Vegas in September and even into October was astonishingly hot. A dry, crackling heat. Will bought more and stronger and moisturizing sunscreen, and two new pairs of sunglasses, and lighter weight clothes. Then he played hockey, and maybe he did end up forgetting Alex, a little. Not totally, they texted, and did the whole social media back and forth. But Alex wasn't in the front of his mind. He was somewhere in the back.

In the middle of January, Alex called – not texted – to say the Jackets would be in Vegas for four whole days before their game on the 24th. “Are you guys at home?” he asked. “I want to see the city.”

“I think we're in Carolina a few days before coming home,” said Will. “You'll have to see Vegas for the first time without me. Sorry. Tag along with your American friends, they'll know where to go. Ask Cam.” Mentioning Cam made him remember the whole Dubi/Cam theory of attraction of a few months ago. What had happened with that? Alex must have forgotten. He could be easily distracted.

“Okay,” said Alex. “Cam, right. And you? Good season.” He sounded wistful, and wasn't hiding it very well.

“Not that good, not all-star good,” Will said, then wondered if that didn't come across as petty and ungrateful. It wasn't a thought he'd ever had before, to have to soften his bluntness or hide himself, when talking with Alex. But speaking over the phone after not seeing him in person for a few months made it harder to judge. Was Alex jealous? He might be. Will was surprised to find himself worrying about this. “I mean, it's okay, I don't care. I'm going to go to a show instead.”

“I want to see a show,” said Alex. “Who are you going to go with? Your 'Swedish desert mafia'?” More wistful.

“Maybe,” said Will, hastily. All Alex had left in Columbus was a Dane and a few young Finns, which Will couldn't remember if they spoke Swedish or not. Probably poorly. He redirected the conversation. “We can make time and go to one while you're here. When I get back from Carolina.”

“Maybe,” said Alex. “But we'll probably be busy.”

“Do you think?” said Will. After Alex hung up, Will found himself dwelling on the conversation. He felt guilty about neglecting poor Alex, and decided to do something for him. Maybe a gift? Something Alex would like. Before leaving for the road trip, he went down to the Strip to look at jewelers. He took the aforementioned desert mafia along for support.

“Why the Strip? It's for tourists, it's expensive. Everyone says so.”

“It's okay.” Will looked into first one glass case, then another, then another. “My next contract will be a big one.”

**

Will bought a flashy watch and gave it to Alex the day before the game, after they had dinner together. “Christmas present,” he said.

Alex kept turning it over and over in his hands, like he was feeling its weight, and holding it up to let the light glint off all the precious metal and fabulous clockwork housed within. Ticking. “Wow,” he said, finally. “This is even better than what I had planned.”

“Huh?”

“Well, this was my idea.” Alex unzipped his backpack for a parcel. It wilted in his hands. There was something soft and bendable inside, clothes maybe.

“You got something for me too?” Will felt oddly touched. He pulled apart the wrapping tissue and took a look. Ties, socks, dress shirts , boxers. Everything was from a brand, AW, that Will had never heard of. “These are – nice?”

“It's for you to give to me.”

Will frowned. “Why would I give your gift to me, back to you?”

“It's not a gift for you. It's part of the plan.”

“It's not a gift? Wait, what plan?”

“The Cammy and Dubi plan. Give those here, we don't need them anymore and you're ruining them.”

Will held onto the long end of a sock passively and didn't resist as Alex tugged it free. The Cammy and Dubi plan? The letters AW flashed past him in a blur of moving fabric. “AW? No, these are _monograms_?”

“Now, about this watch,” said Alex, ignoring Will's question. “You have to wrap it, then bring it to me in the visitor's locker before the game. Okay? And wrap it nicely. That's important.”

“Why important?”

“Just, 'follow my lead'. Okay?”

“Explain this plan of yours to me first.”

“No,” said Alex. “You're going to call it dumb.”

“Well. Is it?”

Alex ignored him, again. “See you tomorrow!”

This left Will unsatisfied. So there was no gift for him after all, disappointing. Still, he did as told and walked into the visitor's locker room a few hours before the game. Everyone was friendly but a beat away from fully welcoming, which was fair, and there was also his own sense of no longer belonging. A 50/50 split. He decided to get in and get out as quickly as possible.

The boys were rowdy inside, all, _Watch out, here comes a spy,_ and, _Wild Bill! Wild Bill! Wild Bill!_ and, _Someone cover the whiteboard!_

“Ha, ha, you guys,” said Will. “I'm just here to give something to Wenny.”

“Give what to Wenny?” Cam stopped him, bodily, and looked down at what he was holding, a small plain tote he'd chucked the watch box into because he hadn't wanted to buy any wrapping paper.“What's in there?” Cam reached for the bag handles.

“No, nothing.” Will brought it high and tight and closer to his body. “It's personal, I want to put it into his hands myself.”

“It's personal,” repeated Cam. He gave Will a look that Will couldn't place. “You want to put it into his hands yourself.”

“Yes, personal, what's so weird about that?”

“It's not weird, who said it was weird? I didn't say it was weird. Nothing weird is going on here.” Cam said this while continuing to give Will a very weird look. “Alex is with the trainer.”

“Great, thanks.” Will waited; Cam stared at him. Will coughed. “Can you move now?”

“Oh, sorry.” Cam stepped aside.

Alex must have heard the commotion. Will (And Cam, trailing behind and being extremely, obviously nosy) met him at the door to the main locker room. There were maybe a dozen other guys around. Alex smiled and asked, “That's for me?” He took the bag to his stall, sat down with it between his legs, then plunged his hand in to rummage around. He lifted one perfect eyebrow, paused, and pulled out the watch box, which was made out of dark, expensive looking wood. “What's this,” he asked, like he didn't already know. “Can I open it now?”

Why would Alex tell him to 'follow my lead' and then ask him a question? What was he supposed to answer? This wasn't very well thought out. Will hesitated. Alex gave him a faceful of very intense eyes, wild at the edges. Blink once for yes, blink twice for no? Non-verbal communication was tough. “Yes?” he tried.

Alex popped the lid, showily, smooth hinge action to reveal on a bed of velvet the watch, glinting light, precious metals, etc, etc. This was the second unveiling, there weren't any surprises. Alex really sold it though. He breathed a soundless wow with his mouth. He held the watch up and rotated it, all the metal scale-links of the band chiming against each other. Then he did this thing where it seemed like he was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning too hugely. “I love it,” he said. He looked at Will, then nudged him with a knee.

“Good,” said Will, dutifully. “I'm glad.”

“Come with me to the change room, I'll put it with the rest of my stuff.”

No one else was in the visitor's change room, which was small and lacked amenities. Alex tucked the watch away into one of the pockets of his suit jacket, hanging up in a locker. “That went well,” he said. “Did you see Cam's face?”

“No, my back was to him. Why?”

“He was super into it.”

“Into it? Why was he into it?” Will had several suspicions but nothing definite yet. “What have you been telling him?”

“Me? Nothing much.” Alex smiled. “Well, you should probably get going. Wait for me in the hallway after the game.”

Will frowned, but he did want to leave enemy territory before their sufferance of him ran out. “Okay,” he said. “After the game.” Only two steps away from the visitor's locker room though, Cam caught up to him.

“Hey, Bill,” Cam said. “Can we talk?”

“Sure.” Will waited. Anytime someone asked if they could talk rather than get on already with the talking, he knew it had to be serious.

Whatever it was, Cam was having trouble getting it out. He looked up the hallway, then down the hallway. A pack of carts hauling pallets of Gatorade and gear were approaching with a motorized whirr and he flattened himself up against the wall to let them pass. Will did too. While they were shoulder to shoulder, Cam said, “What you did for Alex, that was really sweet.”

Will looked at him. He was watching the carts go by. A muscle near his mouth twitched and made his cheek hop. “It was no big deal,” said Will. “An hour down at the Strip, a couple thousand bucks. Just a late Christmas present.”

“Me and Alex have been talking,” said Cam. Most of the carts were through but there was one last trailer. Behind the convey was a thick clot of previously stopped up foot traffic, chatting noisily. Behind them was a brief space of clear air, and silence. “He's been kinda down, Alex,” said Cam. “But you probably already know that.”

“Oh,” said Will. “Down. I was thinking he might be, but I wasn't sure. We haven't been talking too much lately, to tell the truth.”

“Oh,” echoed Cam. He shifted his weight from one foot to another. Down the tunnel there were hints of new incoming movement. “So you two are having – problems?”

“I wouldn't call them problems? We are apart now, it's natural to speak less.” Cam's expression changed, and Will paused seeing it. Had he used the wrong word, or misjudged a connotation? He didn't think so.

“Trust me,” said Cam. “It is a problem. You two should, I mean, I've also got some experience in this, uh - “ He flubbed to a stop.

“In what?” asked Will, trying to be helpful. “Trades?” Technically an expansion draft, but whatever.

“No, no.” Cam was getting flustered, a bit red in the face. Will had no idea why – from not being understood? “Not a trade but – being apart. From someone. A little, this season.”

“Oh, you - “ This was a head scratcher. Wait, duh. “You have a girlfriend now?” asked Will, politely. He didn't really care to know that much, but he did have to ask. “I don't know if that's the same as Alex and me.”

For some reason, this tied Cam's tongue for him. He stared at the floor and didn't say anything. Will couldn't remember Cam ever being at a loss for words, or being this uncharacteristically serious. “No, nothing, nevermind,” said Cam, finally. He shook his head to punctuate each word. “Just, I know it's hard, but hang in there. Good luck tonight.”

Weird. Will scored two goals and was out in the hallway, as instructed, about twenty-five minutes after the game. A few reporters saw him hanging around, and when Alex came out they got phones pointed at them – see the heartwarming reunion.

Alex had his wrapping-paper parcel underneath his arm. He looked at the reporters, then back to Will. He raised his eyebrow, perfect, arch, etc. He must practice in the mirror.

“Here,” said Will. They walked down the hallway and ducked into the Zamboni garage. One was out on the ice, but the two others were resting inside. A driver was keeping watch from a fold out chair. He looked up from his newspaper, rustled the pages at them by way of hello, then went back to it.

Will rested back against the red carriage of the nearest Zamboni. He knocked at it with his knuckles too, idly. “Cam was weird today,” he said.

Alex leaned in. “Tell me.”

Will told him; Alex grunted in satisfaction. “What?” asked Will.

“Brandon's been injured,” said Alex. “Well, Cam too, but he's traveling with the team now. Brandon got sent home.”

“So?”

“So. Apart,” said Alex, with relish, like he was tasting each syllable of the word.

“If you say so,” said Will, dubiously. “What have you been telling Cam about us?”

“No, nothing, don't worry about it.” Alex straightened up and rolled his shoulders. He looked Will straight-on. “Hey,” he said. “Good game tonight.”

Face to face. Will didn't see or hear anything but utter insincerity. If Alex felt any jealousy, he had mastered it. “Thanks,” said Will, feeling a surge of emotion, then stepped forward so they could hug it out. He patted Alex on the back. Breaking apart, he caught at the clothes Alex was holding and pulled them sliding out from underneath his armpit. “Why are you bringing these out to me again?”

“Oh,” said Alex. “I felt bad you got me something and I didn't so I'm giving them to you. For real this time.”

“Alex, these all have your initials on them.”

“So?” said Alex, without any trace of shame. “Rip the stitching out. Or don't, and think of me when you wear them.” He smiled.

**

The clothes he stored way into the back of his closet. Maybe he could regift them and convince an uncle back home that AW was a trendy American brand. When he woke up the next morning, Alex had texted demanding he check Instagram and make a comment. Will sent him an, _of course,_ plus a rolling-eyes face, and made the required comment on his post, a video of the two of them during warmups that looked stolen from the Blue Jackets' account.

Alex texted him back right away, and they kept it up through the next few weeks. Alex was keeping close tabs on Cam and Brandon and every day he would text Will some observation that he thought supported his theory, they did this, they did that, lunch together, dinner together, one leaving the other's hotel room late in the night. Talking in secret in the laundry room.

Will texted him to stop stalking them maybe a hundred times.

The second (and last) game of the season against each other they played in Columbus, in March. Will called Alex and asked him, “Do you have any orders for me this time, sir?”

“Not this time, no,” said Alex, without any trace of irony. Then he immediately contradicted himself. “Well, actually. Don't treat me too special today, don't come see me or anything. Like, we are friendly but not that close. Just be cool.”

“Okay,” said Will. “Don't treat you too special. That won't be hard.” He hung up and put his phone away, ignoring how it buzzed angrily several times in his palm. There were tape jobs to do and things to stretch and loosen. Thirty minutes before warmups, he went back to his locker and checked his phone, finding out that some of the buzzes had been from Brandon, who wanted to know if he was coming to see Alex. For some reason.

While Will was frowning to himself and thinking this over, Brandon texted again – _????_ and _why are you ignoring your boy?_

To which Will replied, _I'm not we texted today._

_Come outside._

Outside, Brandon pounced on him right away and said, “Let's talk.”

The hallway was full of people. It was hard to find places to talk when you were on opposing teams. Brandon ended up shoving him into a storage closet. There was a mop handle by his head; he leaned away from it. “What do you want?”

“What's happened between you and Wenny? He's been moping around for days, and he won't talk to me and – . Me. He won't talk to me.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Are you sure?” He gave Will an unwarranted stink eye. “What else could be going on?”

“Well, maybe he is a little lonely, he's the only Swede on the team now.”

Brandon frowned. “What about Oliver?”

Oh geez. “Oliver is Danish, and Alex is from Stockholm,” Will informed him. “It will be hard for him to understand Danish, especially after so many months in America. At least half the conversation will be in English.”

“Then, that's more reason for you to go see him.”

“Alex is a big boy, he's not my responsibility. I'll see him after the game, maybe. I'm not his boyfriend or anything,” he added, as a joking afterthought. “Can I go now?”

“Wait, wait,” said Brandon. He was fussing at something invisible and possibly nonexistent on his shirt. It was an oddly uncertain gesture on him, and Will remembered having a similar line of thought about Cam, two months ago in Vegas. “Hey," said Brandon. "You can trust me.”

“With what?”

“You know.” Brandon's voice lowered.

Will shook his head and tried to project confusion. 

“You know,” said Brandon, even more lowered but extra emphatic on the word know. In fact, almost hissing it out. 

“I don't. Really.”

“You know,” insisted Brandon, now in fact hissing. “You and Alex. Me and Cam too. Okay?”

“Oh,” said Will. “ _Oh._ No way. Alex was right?”

Brandon set back on his heels. “Right about what?”

“You and Cam. That's very sweet, you two suit each other.” Will thought about it. “Am I the first person you've told?”

“Well. Yes.” Brandon looked dazed.

“How does it feel?”

“Uh.” He broke into a grin. “Good, actually. It feels good.” He breathed out, noisily. “Whoo. Wow. My heart is killing me right now. Here, feel.”

Will obligingly felt. Brandon's heart beat fast and muscular underneath his palm. “Yep.” That's - a heart alright. 

“So, you and Alex though?”

Will shook his head. “Nope.”

“Oh. Cam and I thought – we could have sworn, the way he was acting.”

“Yeah, you might want to ask him about that. Don't look at me.”

“Damn,” said Brandon. “That's too bad. You two would look good together. I was thinking maybe one day you two and me and Cam could - “ He stopped.

“Could what?”

“N – nothing. Oh, god.” Brandon buried his face in his hands. “What's wrong with me? I feel lightheaded, I feel like I'm high.”

“It's the shock,” said Will, wisely.

“Don't tell Cam what I just said.”

“About - ?”

“Just don't tell him!” Brandon was red as a beet. “I have to get ready now. Bye.” And he practically went barreling out the door.

Huh.

After the game, Will waited for Alex, who was going to drive them back to his apartment. Alex waited until they had left the arena and were in his car before punching the air with both hands. “Fuck! Yes!” he said. “I was right!”

“Yeah, yeah," said Will. There was still one thing bothering him. "What I don't get, is why Brandon thought you and me were dating. Was it you?”

“Oh, yeah, about that,” said Alex. He looked down at his hands. He had his key in the ignition but hadn't turned on the engine yet. “I might have led them to believe that. A little.”

“A little.”

“Okay,” said Alex. “A lot.”

Several things fell into place in his mind very quickly. He could almost hear the echo inside his own skull. “This is why they kept dragging me places to have heart-to-hearts?”

“Maybe.” Alex was still looking at his hands, the steering wheel. Then he peeked up. “It worked, didn't it?”

“You - “ Will shook his head, at a loss for words.

“Are you angry?”

“No, only – exasperated. You need better hobbies.”

“Well, you needed to stop ignoring me. I might not have gone through with it if it wasn't for that.” Alex fired up the car and started to pull out of his parking spot, his head thrown over his shoulder.

“What? So this whole thing was a punishment?”

“Not the whole thing. Only a little part of the thing. A bonus.” Alex faced forward again, smiled, and put on a pair of sunglasses.

“Alex, it's the middle of the night. And I wasn't ignoring you. Not really.” No reply. Will sunk further into his seat. “Fuck, but you owe me a real Christmas present. One without your initials on them.”

“We'll see," said Alex. And they were free of the arena, turn signal clicking, darting off into the wide streets of Colombus.

The whole rest of the night Alex wouldn't shut up about it. Cam had come to see him, and then Brandon had come to see him, and then Cam and Brandon had come to see him, and they had talked about this, and about that, and had called Alex a good friend. Etc, etc. Will pretended like he didn't care, which spurred Alex into greater heights of self congratulation. “I did good, didn't I? Huh? Didn't I? Come on. See how happy.” He showed Will a selfie the three of them had taken together after the game.

Will smiled at him. “Ok, fine, Alex,” he said. “You were right and you did a good job.” He reached out and patted him on the cheek, twice. “See you this summer.”

In the morning he woke up to see Alex had posted the picture to Instagram, with the caption, _Love my brothers!!_ He had also texted Will to comment on it.

 _Yeah, I know,_ Will texted back. And he added a rolling-eyes face.

 

 


End file.
